Daisy Chains
by bonnjie
Summary: NickRita. Oneshot. Complete. What happens when Nick thinks about death.


Nearly Headless Nick was not afraid of death. He passed each day as if it were his last, savouring every new experience, every memory, as if he would finally fall asleep after 500 years of being awake and just not awake from his peaceful slumber. He would watch the students race by, watching them try to fufill their dreams before they would drift off into death. Most would follow a path he had daydreamed of many a time, they would not follow his example and become ghosts. He watched the students throw away their memories, they would ignore the beauty around them and many would not have the chance to experience natures marvels again. Sometimes it made him scream, watching these children rush through life and forget to smell the roses.

I _He watched Rita, sitting in a sky blue dress in a field of wildflowers, golden blonde ringlets swaying softly in the spring breeze. This would most likely be her last time sitting here, making a daisy chain simply because it looked pretty. Every moment could be her last, and boy did she know it. He'd seen the way she looked at him, she was scared of death. She was scared of what she could become. He could just hope that she wouldn't follow his path, he had been scared of death too, and he regretted it every day of his afterlife._

_  
"Rita, will you promise me something?"_

_She looked up from her work, a small daisy caught in one of her ringlets. Blue eyes quizzically staring at his silver ones, a smile growing on her slowly-tanning face._

_  
"Whatever you say."_

_  
He pretended to take a deep breath, after 500 years the habit of breathing had still not left him. Looking into her curious eyes, he spoke in barely a whisper, watching her catch every word that he uttered._

_  
"Promise me you'll never become like me."_

_She seemed confused for a moment, before his words dawned on her and she nodded, smiling and trying to make the situation seem a little less sombre. She seemed to have that talent to make him feel completely comfortable, no matter what the situation was._

_  
"Sure Nick, I promise."_

_  
She returned to making her daisy chain, an enormous grin on her face as she put the last daisy on her chain and slipping it on her head like a crown. _

_  
"What do you think?"_

_  
"I think you look stunning" /i _

Nick sat in an alcove, looking at the paper sitting in front of him. He couldn't take his eyes off it, no matter how much he wanted to. Tears streaming down his transparent cheeks, he didn't dare to believe the headline. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't! On the fourth page, right next to the article on the thickness of cauldron bottoms, was a small obituary. There was a picture of a middle aged woman, blonde ringlets falling down to her shoulders. Dark lips standing out on translucent skin, horn-rimmed glasses framing her deep blue eyes. He couldn't move, he couldn't bring himself to read about the girl he'd treated like a daughter for so long. The words were blurred, and the paper was covered with teardrops. She was gone, she was gone and she was never coming back. The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks, he had nobody to look after. Nobody to care for. He could hear someone coming, perhaps it was the Frair? Not caring whether someone saw him crying, he kept his eyes on the paper. Her picture was smiling, obviously taken by a professional, she looked marvellous. He'd never see that smile again, he'd never see her make another daisy chain crown and parade around in it like she was queen of the world. The memory made him want to laugh, but he couldn't. Rita Skeeter would never write him letters, or come say hello when she when she popped into Hogsmeade. Someone was outside, he could hear rustling of papers and clothing, it couldn't have been a student, they never came here, this place was resigned for ghosts. Hanging his head, he waited for them to come in and inquire on what was wrong.

"N...Nick...?"

He recognised that stutter! That accent, that voice! It couldn't have been, there was no WAY it was her! Quickly wiping the tears from his face, he looked up at the figure standing in the doorway. Silver curls framing her heart-shaped face, dark lips standing out against light grey skin. Floaty dress, was it pastel blue? It looked familiar, maybe she'd worn it in a photo shoot. She looked noticibly younger, and there was a daisy chain crown resting on her head. Her eyes weren't framed by glasses, and the wrinkles that had begun to form in the obituary photo were absent from her face.

"B..but...h..hhoo...ho...wha?"

A smirk crossed her face, she took a step forward, the pumps that had grown to be a part of her wardrobe were replaced with the ballet slippers he remembered so vividly. The daisy chain crown hadn't aged a day, and he doubted it ever would.

"Crossed my fingers."


End file.
